


The Healer

by yakuit



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Abduction, Angst, Brainwashing, Captivity, Capture, Control, Dubious Consent, Eating Disorders, F/M, Gen, Hunted, Hunting, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Mild S&M, Multi, Possessive Behavior, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Prisoner of War, Running Away, Stockholm Syndrome, Training
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 20:19:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/702246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yakuit/pseuds/yakuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU   -  Before Gotham..... before the fire.  A healer is discovered and the league of shadows will spare no resources in locating and securing him.  Runaway John Blake with the whole godamn L.O.S after him!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The healer

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys this is a slightly AU. 
> 
> John Blake has had a hard life and is always running. Using faked documents he joins a medical convoy in war torn Afghanistan as an orderly/help assistant. Unluckily for him he's kidnapped by a Warlord. In his cell he meets a tortured and sick Barsad. It is Barsad who discovers his secret. 
> 
> John is a healer - he has a unique ability to heal people. And he will be a much sought after treasure.

The guards dragged him down the corridor, a hard uncaring arm looped under each of his shoulders, his legs dragging uselessly behind him. This was the end surely. Barsad could not help the smallest groan escape from his between his bloodied and clenched lips, his face distorted with pain trying to hold in the screams and tears that he knew once started would not stop. He felt shame that his body could betray him so, imagining the disappointment that ‘they’ would feel if they were able to see him now, so weak, so broken. A door opened and he was heaved inside flung carelessly to the ground there was a cacophony of harsh shouts, bright lights shining into his eyes. And then blessedly a cool small slim hand stroked his brow and for just a few seconds the pain eased, warm breath caressed his face and a low soothing voice caressed him into a longed-for unconsciousness. 

When he next woke, he was surprised to find himself alive and somewhat without the brain piercing pain that had been his companion through days of torture. Training was instinct now as he kept his breathing even - feigning sleep, using eyes, nose, smell and even taste to assess his situation. Lying on a smelly straw covered pallet, his body ached but surprisingly his body only a steady thrum of pain that pulsed and curled within him. Slow breaths coming from the right, another person. There was somebody with him! Barsad ran through all the ways he could attack, to disable, to maim, to kill. After days of torture his spirit cried out for violence and vengeance no matter what retribution followed. He was already a dead man, the wounds that they had inflicted, were deliberate and cruel, a slow lingering death of days if not weeks. He was still so weak though. 

A movement and then a hand cupped his face, as Barsad clenched his fist, his body tensed in preparation of a strike and then a voice low soothing it stayed his hand, made him hesitate as he tried to make out the words.

"Shsss....Shssss you are safe for now, be still I have you.”

The edge of a cup at his lips, and then precious water dribbled down his throat, as hands carefully tilted his head. The water was stagnant, stale with gritty texture and still it was the sweetest taste. He tried to sit up, to take back some control. His eyes fluttered as he made out a slender man in shadow. A hand stroking his cheek, telling him to rest, that he was safe for now. Eye contact that made him gasp – such fire, such inner beauty. He fell into sleep gazing into their depths, hypnotised it seemed by the young man’s soft words and the slow brush of his fingers through his hair. 

Days past in a soft hazy blur, pain muted and barely bearable. Barsad got to learn of his saviour, a young medic John Blake that had been travelling with an obscure foreign charity providing treatment and aid in this worn torn country. He had been taking hostage several weeks ago, the warlord trying to ransom him back to the Americans. But as John deprecatingly told him, he was a nobody, an orphan in this world. There was no loved ones waiting for him, nobody to lobby politicians and go in front of the cameras to bring his plight to the world. They both knew the impatience of the warlord and John was stoic and matter of fact about the likely outcome. 

Over the days his saviour would talk to him soothingly telling him stories from his youth and amusing tales as he treated Barsad as much he could with no equipment or medicine. To his surprise Barsad could feel himself healing, he still trashed and moaned with pain and fever but he could feel himself strengthening and repairing under this man’s care. 

Little by little a bond formed between the two men, however despite his injuries Barsad still could not fully trust him. He was careful with his words only given a false name, even if this John were true, the walls could have ears, and this could just be a new ploy. His wounds were healing too fast, suspicion plagued him, where torture would not work on him, were they perhaps trying kindness. A kindness, whose betrayal would only be felt more keenly once the torture restarted. He knew the only reason they had stopped their cruelty was they knew he would not break, and he suspected they would use him to try and trap his brother. But that was one fear he did not have. Nobody and nothing could contain his brother. His brother was the wind, the storm, the fire and he was unstoppable. 

It was on the last day of his captivity that Barsad learned his strange companion’s secret. He had feigned sleep as John had tended to the worst of his injuries. A soft tingle followed by a warm heat made him peek between his eyelashes. His heart stilling in shock and then sudden understanding. The boy’s hands hovering over his legs, face contorted in concentration, as sweat poured of John’s face. 

A healer…. 

A true healer in this hell hole!

He though such things were myth and he felt a sudden fear of what would happen if the warlord found out about the true prize he held in his dungeons – the boy would perhaps be saved from death but his life would be of a slave or worse. It explained so much, his rapid healing, the easing of his pain. The reason behind John’s constant tiredness and even frailer appearance that had worsened so fast. He was literally killing himself to heal Barsad. 

It took an hour and then with a gasp the boy pulled away his face white and drawn as he lay himself down beside his patient. Barsad watched him through half closed eyes until he was sure the boy has succumbed to his needs into sleep. Bracing himself, he raised himself up, assessing the boy with new eyes and then slowly he due away his covering staring in shock at his legs. After days of torture, his legs and feet had been raw lumps of meat, tendons cut cruelly and joints smashed. And yet here now fresh healing skin littered the worst of his wounds. His legs were still a mess but the worst injuries were healing, he would walk again, he would not be crippled, it would take time and care but he would live. 

His eyes narrowed as he appraised the young boy snoring softly beside him. I will protect you he swore to himself. Then smiled at the irony, for he was even more helpless that the boy at this time. Even with the league of shadows training he was not strong enough to save him. BUT … maybe and for the first time he thought of his one hope …his brothers. They would come he knew, they would wreak vengeance and the fire would reign down. He just had to keep John safe until then. He closed his eyes it seemed the healing also tired him out also, and with a sigh he let himself fall into sleep. 

The harsh grate of the cell door opening, jerked him awake as he cursed his lack of his attention. Four guards strolled in, another 2 kept guard at the entrance, batons drawn, their eyes glinting with glee and lustful excitement. Course words and lewd gestures made Barsad realise their intent, and with a snarl he flung himself at them. He took down two of them but it was just temporary as he was battered to the ground. Only barely aware of John’s screams as he flung himself over Barsad futility protecting him with his own body not realising he was the one in danger. 

Minutes passed as screams filled the air, blackness poked at his consciousness and then the sweetest sound … the chut chut of helicopter, growing louder and louder. 

Controlled short burst of gunfire, bangs, shouts, screams and then smoke filled the cell. Large hands carefully lifted him up. 

‘You are safe now Brother’. 

He tried to struggle, to shout to tell them to save the boy. But darkness descended. 

1 YEAR LATER

“Brother ….we have found him.”

Barsad jumped up, his eyes alive with hope. He did not even ask who was found, there was was only one that they had searched for so long for. It had taken months of recuperation but he was now as he should be - a suitable protector for their new brother. Their little bird just had to be recovered first. 

When he had first woken after his rescue he had screamed incoherently to be taken back, screamed for them to return. It had taken Talia to calm him down to gain the full story. Once he had related his tale, no further words were needed or spoken. Talia and Bane had shared one single searing gaze and then they had disappeared in a rush. And Barsad had let himself marginally relax. They would find and bring the boy with them. But instead they had returned dirty, dishevelled and worse empty handed. When they had first stormed the warlord’s sanctuary to rescue him they had killed all the guards and soldiers inside, but they had let the other prisoners and the slaves live. And John now was gone.

Since then using the league of shadows vast network of resources they had hunted for their little bird. But it seemed he had flown far and was hiding deep. Sightings were made of him, but their little bird never stayed long in one place, always moving, always restless. And until now always one or two step ahead of the league as though he knew he was being hunted.

They had researched him, taking pleasure in learning as much as they could about their new brother, Barsad marvelling that his Sister and Brother could accept the new addition to their family without even meeting him, especially as he was from that corrupt sewer of a city. His true name had brought a smile to Talia’s eyes, whilst Bane had actually laughed aloud. 

John Robin Blake. 

Their new brother, their little bird that needed to be captured and brought to safety. He had not returned to America or re-joined the charity. He had no family or friends, and whilst Barsad had felt sad for his little bird to be so alone in the world he was also glad. It would make the transition easier. 

They would be Little Robins new family. He belonged with them. 

He smiled in eager anticipation at Bane “Do we leave now Brother”.

“We do Brother, we claim what is ours”. 

Preparations were made, excitement and anticipation thrummed throughout the barracks, the other warrior’s knowing the importance of their newest quarry. No effort would be spared to capture their leader’s prize. And once captured he would be kept safe, handled gently and carefully until he was indoctrinated fully into the league.


	2. 2.  Flight or Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The net is closing in. See John run!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks guys for all the great reviews really helped the muse. I hope you like this chapter and please review it feeds me, makes me a happy bunny and which makes the world a happier place :-)  
> btw - John maybe a bit fould mouthed in some of the earlier chapters - all aprt of character development.

1 WEEK LATER - DELHI

As John ran along the narrow bustling side streets, John felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising. Casually he looked around but nothing seems unusual but the sensation of being watched continued, for the last week he had felt uneasy and today the feeling intensified. Was he being marked by one of the young beggar gangs that roamed these alleyways or was it something else. Maybe it was time to move on. He trusted his instincts and they were screaming at him now. He spotted his favourite person and after garbling out a few words of hideously mangled hindu, an exchange of his hard earned rupees and he was the proud owner of spicey fragrant rice package. Yum Yum. John grinned at the street vendor mumbling “dhanyavad”, The street vendor a wizened old man with yellowed white hair gave a toothless chortle back and a string of Hindu most of which flew by John’s very limited comprehension. 

Weaving his way through the crowd filled streets he tore into the rice and dhal, basic but it tasted like ambrosia as he scoffed it down, he was starving. A beggar swathed in rags rattling a broken tin can stumbled up to him, the smell of rotting fish heavy in the air. From the wide berth the locals gave the beggar, John guessed it was leprosy. He looked at his food with longing and then sighing deeply he grabbed the beggar’s hands and passed his precious rice to him “Namasate”. Glancing down at his watch he swore and started jogging towards the clinic, damnit he was late again. 

Behind him the beggar stared at him intently, before turning down an alleyway, the rice package lying discarded on the ground. 

Twelve hours later, found him back on the steps. Another shift done but he had decided to pack up today and move on. He had stayed longer than he had wanted, compelled into helping the poor and sick of Delhi’s slums. 

Ahead of him in the gloom, a figure detached itself from the building across the street, he instantly tensed up, only relaxing as he saw it was a women. A rather beautiful women he saw on second glance tensing up for a different reason as he realised she was approaching him.

“Hello”, her voice, soft and gentle as she smiled at him.

“Ermm Namaste,… I mean good morning,…. Evening.. errmmm hi..”he trailed off lamely in embarrassment. Ohmygod what a douchebag he was. She was so pretty, why was she talking to him, and ohmygod who cared. Say something witty, something intelligent… just saying anything. 

She beamed at him. You are all that I have been told about and more”.

“Err.. errr… what”, John frowned. 

“John, May I call you John? My name is Talia I work for LOS Global, I have heard a lot about you”, at this she waved vaguely in the direction of the clinic. “I have job proposition for you from my employer, he would be most honoured if you would join our staff”

“Errrr what.. job?.... ”. John looked at her in confusion, and dammit he chided himself, he always had a way with words so what the hell was happening to him. But ohmygod she was so attractive and what the hell was she doing here talking to him. He tried to unobtrusively smell himself, yep as he thought not good. God why didn’t he have a quick wash before he left. 

She smiled, her eyes dancing with inner mirth as she surveyed him. Leaning forward she looped her arm in his “Perhaps we can discuss this over dinner, I know a lovely little place that serves the best Paratha’s”. 

“Dinner? I errr I don’t have…I mean I errr.” 

“Of course it will be my treat John”.

Hairs at the back of his neck prickled, he felt a sinking in his stomach. He looked at her, really looked at her, no fucking way would a women like her be talking to a street rat like him, no way would somebody be looking to poach him he was a medical orderly not a brain surgeon. GET. REAL. JOHN. he chided himself… but that would mean….. oh shit, fuck he was in so much trouble. 

He smiled at her gamely, “Yeah sure Lady, I need to go home first and get washed and changed shall we meet up.” He tried to gently disentangle his arm. 

She tutted at him, her smile still warm, but her hand just fractionally tightened not by much but it was enough, “Oh John, I will come with you, you wouldn’t leave a lady to wander these streets alone would you, who knows what dangers lurk in the dark”. 

Oh fuck. “Sure why not”, he replied weakly. 

“Wonderful”.

As they traversed the streets, John wondered what the hell he had got himself into. He had survived one kidnapping just barely and he sure as hell was not going to walk into another one or whatever this was. He kept up a non-stop almost one sided conversation going ten to the dozen. Anything to try and act normal and maybe take her or whoever else was there lurking in the dark off their guard. The lady just walked by his side so serenely, seemingly enjoying his constant monologue, she didn’t seem to mind walking through the dirt and grime. And seemed oblivious to the stares they were getting in the busier sections of the streets. 

He quailed at the thought of hitting a lady, but that maybe his only option. Oh shit what the hell was happening. He could feel his heart hammering and tried to control his breathing. 

‘Ok… ok’ he thought ‘Make a plan John, make a plan. Get home, if you could call a one squat type room home. Make her wait outside whilst he pretended to take a wash, grab his rucksack and punch his way through the roof and along the roof lines until Ghobbi junction then grab a tuk tuk to the outskirts of the city’. He calmed himself as he worked on his plan, a bit sketchy but it could work - as long as they reached his home. One thing for certain this time he was not getting caught without a fight. 

All to soon they reached his humble abode a small mud baked dwelling off a quiet alleyway. Giving her a queasy smile he bade her wait whilst he cleaned up. She seemed to hide a smile as she cupped his cheek with one slender hand. “Your eyes are the window to your soul, so very expressive my little bird…. So…do what you must, we will be ready for you”.

His heart stopped FUCK !!!!… ‘WE’… ‘LITTLE BIRD’. The words bounced around reverberated in his brain. Shit shit SHIT! What did she mean by little bird, surely she couldn’t possibly know. OHGOD maybe this was Interpol. Panicking and trying hard not to show his terror. He mumbled a “be right back” and then stumbled through the door. It took seconds to locate his secret stash and a cloth rucksack. Swinging it over his shoulder he jumped up on the only furniture in the place a rickety table, and started punching his way through the mud and straw layer. It was easier than he thought – the dry season made everything loose and crumble, as dirt and debris rained down. 

He quickly started to leaver himself out, he was even starting to congratulate himself on an escape well done. Until a hand wrapped around his ankle and tugged hard. Yelping, he tumbled to the ground, ending up in a undignified sprawled heap as he gazed up at a man… a very familiar looking man. Oh SHIT!

“Going somewhere?” he gazed at him with amusement and warmth, his eyes twinkling. John almost smiled back, but the AK47 the man had slung over his shouter, made him gulp nervously instead. 

It was the eyes that gave him away, as he recognised his fellow inmate from that hellhole. What the hell? 

“Henry?” he asked hesitantly in disbelief. 

“Yes my friend, though my true name is Barsad. Little one I have come to take you home, though I must say I am disappointed in your manners to my companion”. He shook his head in mocking disapproval at John.

ohmygod and whatthefuck…John gaped at him, for once truly lost for words. He felt rather than saw the flicker a movement as Barsad stepped forward, hands reaching for him. John jerked in panic. Barsad stilled, holding his hands out, palms outwards as he made a low humming noise, soothingly explaining what had transpired since they last met. How his friends had rescued him in the prison and although once he had regained consciousness they had returned for John they had been too late. His voice deliberately pitched low and soothing. 

John despite himself felt himself relax, but years of being a street kid, he knew when he was being played. This man may have been his friend in that cell, but something was happening here that didn’t bode well for him. He edged his way back centimetre at a time, hands fumbling behind his back for his table. He started prattling nonstop anything to delay the inevitable. 

“Oh mygod I wondered what happened to you, when I got back to the cell to rescue you, you were gone, and so were all the soldiers. But oh man you look good, really great.. you know all healed upand stuff and wow really cool to see you…”

“Relax my brother, we mean you no harm. We want to take you to our home... and yours”. 

John grinned back, all teeth and charm, “Hey give me 5 minutes to repair the roof and I will be right with you”. 

Barsad.. Henry whatever the double crossing bastards name was, sighed and looked sadly at John. He slowly with infinite ease brought out from his pocket - zip ties and a black hood. 

Silence descended. His mouth now dry with dread, Johns eyes darted between the hood in Barsad hands and the zip ties, before finally raising his gaze to Barsad. Who was waiting with calm quiet patience.

“This is for your own good my little bird, accept the inevitable and come with me”

“You fucking bastard you keep away from me”. John frantically groped behind him, blindly his fingers searching for what could be his only salvation

Barsad frowned at John. “Your language is crude my brother, Bane will not approve”.

“Fuck Bane and Fuck you”, swore John, feeling brief satisfaction at the shock that passed in Barsad’s face. Just then John’s fingers finally brushed up against smooth surface of his pistol.

“Your language amongst other things will be attended to”, he told John sternly, he reached again for John “Struggle if you must little bird it will avail you nothing, the outcome will be the same.”

John jumped back, whipping the pistol in front of him. “STAYBACK OR I SHOOT”.

There was a stunned silence as they both looked at the small pink water pistol held firmly in Johns two handed hold - as though it was a Magnum 44. 

Barsad stared at him, his face an expressionless mask. He made a weird choking noise and John realised he was trying to contain his laughter. Tears leaked from Barsad’s eyes as a full belly laugh rolled out. It took several minutes by which time John felt really stupid standing there with his pink water pistol. And if there was one thing John hated it was being made to feel stupid.

Finally Barsad straightened, his eyes crinkled in mirth “Ah little Robin, you are going to be a delight an absolute delight”.

“Stay back or I will fire”, he warned Barsad once again.

“Little bird I think I have a bigger and meaner one than yours”.

John flushed at the double entendre. “Yeah but does yours contains 80% Hydrochloric acid”.

Barsad stilled all amusement wiped from his face, eyes slitting as he examined John as one would a puppy holding a grenade. With caution but also with confidence that he could handle said puppy. 

John narrowed his eyes, ‘condescending bastard’ and then without warning depressed the trigger – the liquid hitting Barsad square in the face. The man howled, slapping his face as he felt to the floor rubbing his hands into his eyes in panic. John with barely a glance back scrambled onto the table and through the hole. He was damn quick, but only a few seconds passed before a growl of rage filled the air.

John grinned to himself, “guess he found out it was Vodka”. John didn’t hesitate to start sprinting along the wooden batons, his feet unerringly finding his balance as he ran. Barsad was just too big to get through that hole he had made and would lose precious seconds enlarging it. John may not be the strongest but he would bet his bottom dollar he was lighter and more nimble than Barsad it might just give him the edge on the rooftops. 

Adrenalin pulsed through him, the flight or fight impulse strong. Endorphins released and John actually found himself grinning like a loon. Shit he had forgotten how good this could feel. It was just like being back at Gotham and running from cops or an enraged mob goon.

“Yay”, he hollered as he jumped the gap between an alley, he felt like he was flying, Yay go team John! Nobody could catch him. 

A man suddenly appeared in front of him, levering himself onto the rooftops. John didn’t hesitate a swift kick to the man’s chest and down he fell. Oh Yay… he was the greatest!

A sound behind him, and John glanced back, not even slowing his gait. A string of men now littered the skyline strung out on the rooftops as they converged on him. The moonlight glinting on their rifles.

He swallowed …”oh Fuck!”


	3. Catch Me If you Can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Johns hes running for his life. For the League of shadows its just another day in the office

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys thanks for all the amazing reviews - Very helpful - and I am overwhelmed see my notes at the end xx

Bane made no sound as he watched from a distance the young boy evade his men, almost soaring through the sky like his namesake as he leaped across a narrow alleyway before weaving erratically between chimneys in his bid to elude his pursers. Bane’s face showed neither anger nor displeasure that some of the mostly highly trained men in the world had been first duped and then led on a merry chase by an untrained wet behind the ear’s boy. Carefully and unhurriedly he folded the night vision goggles away handing them off to one of the four soldiers who stood patiently beside him, their faces stoic only their eyes which glittered in the darkness belied their eager anticipation for their leader’s orders. 

The boy would run fueled no doubt by adrenalin, but when he started to flag as he no doubt would, he was after all mostly skin and bones not a shred of extra fat on his body (something they would remedy when he was safe in their hands). So once he started to tire, once panic set in, the boy would start to rethink his plans, he would make mistakes become predictable. Bane was after all counting on this. It was difficult to predict the panicked flight of prey, but not impossible and the boy despite all his efforts was after all untrained. 

He relayed his instructions in a dialect only known to a few, at once radio orders were relayed and the men slid away into the shadows. His men would shepherd the boy and he would spring the trap. With measured unhurried steps he walked away from the current trajectory of the boy’s flight path into the deepest shadows of Delhi’s slums. The chase whilst no doubt thrilling to his men must now come to its rightful conclusion.

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

John wheezed as he tried to inhale more oxygen into his body, his muscles were screaming, his heart hammering like a train. ‘FUCK’, he thought ‘do these bastards never give up’. They certainly didn't seem to be slowing if anything they were gradually but surely gaining ground on him. After his initial exhilaration of getting away, he was slowly realising these were not like the cops or the hoodlums in Gotham. They would just not give up. He tried veering into some of the gangs territory, thinking that would maybe give pause or even muddy the waters. But it didn't even seem to phase them. They just kept on coming. No matter how he twisted and turned they were still inexorable still behind him and the longer this chase continued the more chance they would have of catching him. He still didn't even understand who they were or what they wanted with him he had discounted Interpol after Henry… no Barsad’s presence. They obviously didn't want him dead or they would have shot him by now. And this seemed an awful lot of trouble just to kidnap him. 

He ducked behind a disintegrating chimney, crouching behind it, he tried to catch his breath and sort out what the heck he was going to do now. He could hear their feet softly thudding by and smiled grimly. They didn't speak just some weird low tutting noises and then there was silence. Absolute silence. John stilled, his heart beating frantically again as he tried desperately to make out any noises. Should he move? Had they pinpointed his position? 

Some sixth sense made him glance to the side just in time to twist out the way as a man came leaping towards him. The man missed and went crashing through the rickety roof. John teetered and seemed to hover almost comically in the air for a second before he went hurtling down too. A whoomf of air as John landed heavily on top of his would be assailant. He was a big guy and that had cushioned Johns fall rather nicely. Thank you very much. But still it took John a few precious seconds to clear his head. Staggering to his feet he glanced down at the man – yep knocked out, probably by John landing so heavily on him. An old man and woman stared at them both stunned. He smiled feebly “Namaste”, as he lurched to the door snagging up a handful of colourful robes from a hook. Time to change the gameplay. 

The old couple started berating him in Hindu fast and furious, their voices sure to draw attention, he pulled out a few of his precious dollars and placed it on the table, silencing them again. It took mere seconds for him to swathe himself in the robes – he wouldn't pass a close inspection but on a cursory glance he would hopefully pass muster.

Then like a shot he was gone, he ran down 2 alleyways and then forced himself to walk slowly and surely. He put a swing to his hips as he kept his head down. ‘Walk like lady’ he kept muttering to himself trying to take smaller strides and swinging his butt side to side. Goddamnit this was hard, maybe women had an extra set of joints in their hips. 

After ten minutes he started to breathe easier he had lost them. He pondered his options, these guys seemed real insistent for some reason. Lying low was out the question, getting out of dodge city seemed to be the only solution. However considering how organised they seemed to be, perhaps making his way to the more obvious exits points wasn't such a good idea. He sighed no matter stick with the original plan – get to the junction, grab a tuk tuk and hope to hell he passed scrutiny as a women. Fuck he was screwed! 

He turned a corner mumbling to himself. Catching himself up short as he spied a familiar figure in the next alleyway. ‘Fuck me’ muttered John - it was Barsad. He was with a small group of soldiers as they jogged down the street and they were heading straight for him. 

Instinctively he dropped to the ground into a squat, making sure the raggedy robes were firmly around his head and body. Cupping his hands as though begging he whispered Namaste again and again. It worked as with barely a glance at him they sped by. John held himself rigid for a few seconds before almost collapsing with relief. That was close. 

Standing up he started to come out of his concealment, then freezing with alarm as he realised Barsad had not moved on but instead was standing with the men as they consulted a map. Like the predators they were, they automatically looked up at his sudden movement. Barsad stared at him. Obviously not recognising him for a second, But them his face bloomed into a wicked smile, further widening as he took in Johns unusual choice of dress. 

“You have got to be kidding me”, shouted John in exasperation. Before he turned around and sprinted off. This time the odds were not in his favour. He was tiring and they just never seemed to give up. He could feel the noose going tighter as more men joined the chase forcing him down alley ways and streets he had never been before.   
He could taste the sour tang of fear in his mouth - he was so screwed. He let out a sob of pure frustration and fear. His earlier elation now disappearing, he was deathly afraid. 

He started trying doors, calling for help. Nobody came. Delhi the city that never seemed to sleep was surprisingly deserted. No pimps on the corners, no gangs loitering in the doorways. He could hear doors and shutters on windows crash shut well before he reached them. There was no help for him here, no rescue, no aid. It was a bitter pill to swallow considering he had helped so many in the slums. 

Then ahead of him a glint, a sparkling in the gloom of the night. The River! If he could make the river maybe just maybe….. He pushed himself harder, muscles screaming at him to stop. He ignored everything but his goal. Twisting and turning as he tore out of the slum alleys and out onto the river bank. He looked around wildly, there in front of him a boat just moving off. He leaped …legs wheeling furiously in mid-air, a jolt as he made contact with the hard surface of the boats deck. Rolling as he came to a stop. He lay there for a few seconds. Breathing heavily he staggered to his feet. Bracing himself he looked at his pursuers who were just standing on the banks, their heads bowed in failure. Some of them even sat down no doubt winded after all the running they had done. Ha! John crowed in soft delight. “Take that you fuckers”, he muttered shaking his fist at them. Sniggering he turned around, undid his trousers,– mooning them. Before collapsing back on the deck, he was safe! 

“What a lovely lovely little fish we have caught”, came a deep mechanical voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, Okay I get taht last chapter John was a bit too childish and I have tried to tone it down in this one. However John is young (you will learn soon his age), and I have kind of based his character on Catch me if you can - that Leonardo Di Caprio portrayed. Yes John has had a lot of angst and bad stuff in his life. But I want him able to rise above that most of the time. He has to have fire and zest for life otherwise what would talia and bane and barsad see in him. This John in this story - whilst dont worry there will be plenty of angst but john for now - tries and live life to the full. Which includes him sometimes behaving a little like the child he sometimes is. I should also mention that John is a little bit foul mouthed, uncouth and definitely a bit of a street kid. But I am sure Bane will work that out of him :-) 
> 
> Anyhow hope you guys enjoyed and please please please give me as much feedback as you can. Its what makes me work harder and write faster. Its literally the fuel I live on :-) thanks again guys for reading and reviewing


	4. The man with the Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets Bane. It doesn't go well.... for John that is.

...

“What a lovely lovely little fish we have caught”, came a deep mechanical voice.

John raised his head from the deck in utter shock, “You have got to be fucking kidding”. 

The man tutted, “Little fishy, such language does not become you”.

John stared in shock, before he hawked to the side. Adrenalin was fading and he felt weak and all trembly as he lurched to his feet. 

“Fuck you and the boat your granny came in on.” John wasn't quite sure what that meant but it seemed to be apt for the situation. 

The man sighed and stepped forward, his huge physique casting John into shadow. “Come now, you have been sought and found, this need not be unpleasant”. 

John swallowed nervously, holy shit he was huge. Scratch plan A for getting anywhere close to this motherfucker. 

He stepped back in apprehension as the man paced him back. Eyes widening almost comically as the man came into view. His mouth opened before he could engage his brain, “Hey Vader called, he wants his mask back”. 

The man paused, his head tilted in curiosity, “This… Vader he is a friend of yours?”

“WHAT!” John gaped at him, for a few seconds indignation that anybody did not know one of the greatest movies of all time overtaking his fear. 

He shook himself, glancing wildly around. Noticing that the boat was now angled back towards the shore. The soldiers on the bank of the river, casually strolling towards the boat. Their wide white grins of satisfaction shining in the gloom. 

John grinned maniacally. “It’s been nice chatting NOT, but I really must be….”. Before the last word had left his mouth he threw himself to the side of the boat. His muscles bunching in his thighs as he tensed himself to throw himself overboard. Ohgod this was going to be so smelly. 

His feet left the deck, his upper body already clearing the railing, he sucked in a breath. And then screamed in disbelief as a large meaty hand snagged his ankle and swung him back. He went airborne, flying through the air to land with a dull thud on the deck. Before he could do more than groan, he was rolled onto his front, a knee pinning him to the surface of the boat. He flapped and flailed to no avail. The man was immoveable.

“Be still little bird”, the man patted his cheek affectionately. The knee was replaced by a foot as he stood over him, holding him down with casual strength. As John cursed, swinging his hands around as he tried to get a good solid hit in. His frustration growing at his hopelessness. Only when he started swearing questioning the man’s lineage and potential mating partners, did the man reach down and cuff him. 

Stunned, John could only listen in dismay as the boat bumped the banks. Men issuing orders as it was tethered and then the stomp of their boots as they clambered aboard. The footsteps grew closer. A muted conversation in a dialect he did not understand. 

A man kneeled beside him, lifting his head. Another set of hands grabbing his hands, the snick of a zip tie as they were tied firmly behind him. 

“Hello little Robin”. Barsad smiling beatifically at him. 

“Bastard”.

“No, No”, Barsad laughed, “Not quite, its Barsad”. 

John, flailed, twisting his head to look at Barsad in the face. “Why, why all this?”

The amusement faded from Barsad’s face. “You have been chosen Brother”. At that he nodded to the man beside him as they hoisted him up. Barsad leading the way as they dragged him onto the shore. The mechanized breathing of the masked man behind him. 

A truck pulled up and more willing hands lifted him onto the tailgate and into the belly of truck. He found himself lying at their feet as they clambered in beside him. A rag was pressed to his face. At the first whiff of the sweet bitter smell, John started to twist and turn. Hands held him down, his face held in position. He tried to hold his breath, tried not to breathe. Silence as they waited tolerantly for nature to take its course. It didn't take long, one gasp and then another, as the world descended into blackness. 

@@@@

The bounce of the truck as it sped along the road. Dust and dirt, clogging his nose. His eyes opened a crack. Seeing a line of boots. The murmur of voices and then darkness again.

@@@@

Jostling as he bounced up and down. Upside down over someone’s broad and very solid shoulder. The ties at his wrists digging in tight, his shoulders in agony. He started gagging, the movement stopped, he was eased down, his back against a hard chest. A hand comforting as it stroked his back. The rim of a water canteen at his lips. Fingers holding his chin, opening his mouth, easing the liquid into his belly. Soothing noises as he coughed and spluttered. Then he was lifted again. He wanted to scream and beg, but could only make garbled incoherent noises. A prick in his arm and everything became soft and hazy. 

The next time he woke, it was too bright sunshine. The glare of sun making him blink stupidly as they propped him up next to wall. He was so tired, his limbs like jelly. He tried to collapse to fall down, he just wanted to sleep. The snip of a knife and his hands were free, pain making him hiss. Hard fingers massaged his muscles and moved his limbs easing the stiffness and pain. Then the rearrangement of his limbs as his clothes was stripped off him. He squirmed and yelped but felt as helpless as a new-born kitten, as he was first undressed and then redressed. Tape over his eyes, a gag eased into his mouth. A long flowing robe, oh Christ a burkha. 

“Hush little Robin, be still, we need you to behave just for a little while longer.”

He gurgled behind his gag, saliva pooling in his mouth. His head lolling to the side. He tried to lift a hand to give him the finger but even that was beyond him.

As his legs once again gave way, he was lifted bridal style, handed off to another pair of hands, perched snugly on a man’s lap, arms clutching him tight. He let his head fall back on the man’s shoulder. A grunt and then the gentle swaying of a beast of burden. He slept. 

Time seemed to blur in a drug induced haze. He wasn't quite sure if they were moving or was it the world that was moving beneath him. Day turned to night with alarming frequency, he couldn't see, but the glare of the hot sun penetrated the taped blindfold he wore. Sometimes he was fed a luke warm unappetizing broth that was dribbled into his mouth. Coaxed to sip tepid water. And then embarrassingly if he had been fully aware, his robes pushed to one side as he was helped to relieve himself. All the time he was aware of Barsad, his voice, his body he was always there. Always with him. And behind him the heavy even breathing of the man with the mask.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Talia surveyed the sleeping boy with a hint of faint puzzlement and equal measure of irritation. He was being held possessively by Barsad as they drove up the desert mountain pass, so close to their goal now. Home for a little while at least. The boy he looked like an angel so sweet, so pure, it was such a pity he had such a foul mouth. For one so young he had surely been corrupted by the stinking taint of Gotham’s stench. 

“You are unhappy with this course Talia”. It wasn’t a question and Bane stood patiently to hear her thoughts. 

“If he is a healer he has the potential to be of much use to us. But still his origins, his birth they are Gotham’s”.

One breath and then two, as Bane considered her words carefully, “And yet my love are we not both birthed from the pit, you ascended from that pit, I could not do so. Only by your hand was I able to rise. He too needs our assistance to fly”.

“He will resist, be obstinate and difficult, he will fight our every action, he will try and escape at every turn”.

“My strength, your cunning, and Barsad’s heart, he will not prevail”. 

Talia smirked as Bane calmly refuted all her objections. It was always the way with her protector. She had just needed to be reminded it seemed. “And will he be worthy of this”. She added half-heartedly.

Bane relaxed as he drew her in close. Knowing she was now in an accord.  
“The fire burns fiercely in him. It just needs to be tempered and then our little bird will fly free and high. But he will always return to our hand”.

“Barsad it seems has found a new pet”. 

Bane glanced at Barsad, and then chuckled “And ll this despite the boy humiliating him. This will be most interesting”. 

Talia grinned in agreement, snuggling closer to him as the truck bounced and jostled. They had little time of late to be close and she had missed him. Now whilst they attended to their little bird she could enjoy her protector.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks guys for the great feedback. Honestly it helps so much and I am really really pleased that you like it so far. 
> 
> I really appreciate peoples opinions as it helps the way I write, its sometimes difficult to be totally objective so I do need people to give feedback. 
> 
> Anyhow I hope you enjoyed this chapter its a bit of lull after all that chasing of the last chapter, But hopefully not too boring :-)
> 
> Please please review guys xxxx


	5. Isolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captive of the league of Brothers, John starts to crack.  
> Warning kind of intense
> 
> ps new section added to chapter 4

Inch by inch he crept forward, his ears straining for the smallest sound, the slightest evidence of somebody, anybody near his cell. His fingers questing in the dark until they butted up against his cell door. Levering himself up as he placed his ear against the door. He waited, and waited and then waited some more. But nothing no sounds, no movement. He was so sure that there was somebody there, somebody watching him. But now he finally admitted there was nobody. He wept. 

Hours passed or maybe days, he no longer knew. Finally he dragged himself up and staggered to the corner of his ten foot cell. Mentally exhausted he curled up and slept. The hard flagstones unforgiving on his cold thin naked body. 

When he next woke, it was with the switching on of the harsh bright uncaring light in his cell. He scrambled upwards his eyes wincing against this intrusion whilst he waited until his sight adjusted. With a sinking heart he saw the porridge paste packet on the floor, with a replenished flagon of water beside it. The bucket that served as his toilet had also been removed and clean one replaced it. 

He put his head in his hands and cried. He longer cared about being brave. There was no point, nobody to hear his bravado, his rebellion. Nobody to care when he threw the water on the floor or threw the porridge like substance at the floor in his anger.  
When he had first woken up stark naked into his very own personal hell, he had been defiant, had shouted abuse, sang songs, made jokes. He had looked for ways to escape, had pondered on the meaning of his kidnapping again, on the duplicity of his supposed friend/captor. 

Awaiting the guards that never came, no matter what he did, just this unrelenting nothingness. The light would go on and would go off. He would sleep and then awaken with the light. Occasionally when he woke there would be food and water and his bucket would be changed. He knew what they were doing, they were trying to break him, trying to soften him up. Isolation, confusion, deception all tools to make him malleable. He had even screamed this knowledge at the cell door. But the utter relentless of nothing continued. He had always thought of himself as a loner that he did not need not anybody. Now he realised he had been a fool, he more than anybody needed some human contact, any human contact. Even a beating would be better than this. He could feel himself cracking and he felt shame. 

He had tried to keep track of time, but finally admitted defeat. Everything too confusing, his brain slowly atrophying into despair and suicidal thoughts. He had been convinced that they had been drugging him and had denied himself the food and water, hiding the remnants in his pail. Hunger and thirst had gnawed at him. He tried to stay awake but exhaustion and deprivation finally claimed him. When he next woke the pail had been changed, but there had been no food, no water. He had stared in confusion, his mouth dry and parched. For two consecutive light periods no food or water had appeared. He started to beg, to cry. When he next woke the food and water were there. He learnt that lesson.

And so it went on he slept, he woke, he raged, he cried, then slept again. And still the cycle continued.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

 

It was hard to tell with the mask of course, as Barsad observed his leader, trying to gauge any indication of his thoughts. As usual he looked neither pleased nor displeased as he concentrated on the monitors showing them a live feed into their little bird’s cell. It had been over a month now and Barsad was impressed at how strong his new brother was. They would make him stronger of course. But first he had to be cleansed ready for his rebirth into the Brotherhood. Drugs, deprivation, isolation all necessary tools for this first stage. He had no illusions that Robin would come quietly and was already looking forward to when he could mentally and physically wrestle with his new brother. 

The first step though distasteful was necessary, he himself had undergone something similar when he had first come into the brotherhood. So eaten by hate, anger and fear. But they had shown him a different path. And such would be Robin’s journey too.

Bane turned to him, an eyebrow raised. 

“Is it time brother?” 

Bane slowly nodded, his eyes crinkling in amusement as Barsad struggled to maintain a stoic expression and then let loose a wide easy grin. Before sprinting from the small room they had taken to observe their captive bird. His steps echoing in the corridor.

Bane turned to gaze to Talia, who was chuckling with undisguised mirth. She linked her arm with his, resting her head against his shoulder. 

“Always so patient our Barsad is… except where our little brother is concerned.”

Bane gave a soft hmmm in response as he stroked her hair. Settling her further against him as they settled down to watch the next phase of their new brothers Chrysalis. 

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Footsteps in the corridor. John straightened, his eyes wide. The first sign of any human activity for god knows how long. 

“Please, please, please…. “ he begged, his voice hoarse and weak.

The light came on blinding him, making him squint and cower away as the door finally opened. The silhouette of a man as paused in the doorway seemingly taking in everything with one intense look. Then kneeling down before him, nonthreatening and relaxed.

“Hello Robin”. 

“Henry?...Barsad?….Barsad ohgod don’t go… please, please, please…”. John unable to control himself, his hand reaching out in desperate agony. His breathes hitching as he started hyperventilating

A warm calloused hand grabbed his questing hand gently. 

“Hush little brother I have you, just breathe”.

For several minutes Barsad waited patiently whilst John struggled with his control, his hand clenching tight against Barsad, fingernails digging in. If it caused Barsad discomfort he did not show it. 

As he got himself under control, he inexplicable felt shame, his nakedness, his dirt encrusted body, he knew he must smell something awful. He shifted his leg to cover his genitals. His face red with humiliation. 

Barsad pulled from his pack, a soft red wool blanket. It took John a few seconds but finally he released his death grip on Barsad’s hand. Taking it and wrapping it around his shoulders, letting the warmth soothe his aching muscles and tired bones. For the first time it what seemed like years – he started to feel a little bit more settled, a little bit more human.

John exhaled, his trembling noticeable decreasing “Why?” It was the one question that had plagued him throughout his incarceration. The betrayal was hard to accept but the reason why he was terrified of. Did they know his secret.

Barsad sighed, “You are not asking the right question brother”.

“Then what is the fucking right question?” John raged “You lock me up in this cage, you think I don’t know what the fuck you are doing…”, his voice trailed of in horror as Barsad with a sad smile picked himself up from the floor and went to the door.

A mad scrabble of limbs, blanket flying as John threw himself at the door, just as it closed behind Barsad. 

“I will be back tomorrow brother”. 

“No, no, no… you fucking wanker don’t you fucking go… Barsad… Barsad …. Barsad?”

Barsad winced as Robins howls echoed down the corridor. He nodded to the 2 guards stationed and then made his way back to Bane.

“Well that went well”, remarked Talia brightly.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Days passed and John got used to the new regime. Exactly as he promised Barsad would return each day. Well at least he thought it was a day. He had a suspicion they were still messing with him. Messing with his mind. 

But slowly he was learning, like a dog thought John bitterly. Trained, conditioned in the correct behavior. He knew it was all part of their ploy. When he behaved, when he reigned in his temper, his rage, when he listened and obeyed Barsad. He was rewarded, first with Barsad’s presence - human contact and then with small basic items, things he had always taken for granted before. A soft black cotton Pyjama bottom, a toothbrush, even one day an apple. That present he had kept and savored for almost a day. Relishing each juicy bite, eating every single piece even the core. Splitting the seeds and sucking out the slightly bitter taste, his eyes closed in pleasure. Unknowingly making his unseen voyeurs smile in indulgence. 

Sometimes Barsad would engage him well interrogate him about his youth, feelings, thoughts. Nothing incriminating but all things that seemed to crack beneath John’s skin. His first kiss, how did it taste, what did he feel. His first memory of his mother. World politics, his views on poverty, on crime. 

He never pushed, never demanded or threatened. But he always seemed to know just how far to go, how far to push. Eventually when John would hesitate or balk at answering a question that seemed too insidious. Barsad would give him that slow sad disappointed smile and then would take his leave. It didn't matter if John begged or screamed, Barsad never wavered from his course of action. John could almost respect his conviction. If he wasn't such a pain in the arse. 

After about a few weeks, Barsad brought a game with him, patiently explaining the rules and strategies. At first he always lost, but Barsad was a good teacher. Slowly at first and then with growing confidence John would first start to draw with Barsad and then to even win. Each victory, gave John a feeling of self-worth as though he had got something over his captor. Hollow though it maybe. 

It took time, John was not stupid he knew what Barsad was doing. But even with the knowing. He couldn't stop himself reacting. For feeling happy to see Barsad step into his cell. To feel pleasure at the small gifts when he did well. To enjoy those quiet times as Barsad taught him and spent time with him. Nobody not even Father O’Rien had spent so much time with him. 

One question he learnt slowly, far too slowly not to ask. Was “Why me, Why?” That question, would make Barsad instantly take his leave in that soft easy going manner he had. 

It seemed like months later that Barsad entered and bade him to join him for a short walk in his new home. 

“Really, REALLY? ”, John rushed to the door in excited anticipation before drawing up short. A sudden inexplicable fear making him freeze. It had been so long and the outside world now seemed unsafe and scary. 

“Just breathe brother”, commanded Barsad softly.

Holding Barsad’s gaze, he took the final step over the threshold. Stopping short at the sight of the two silent guards who were unashamedly watching him with fierce anticipation

“There was somebody here, all this time”, he turned confused eyes towards Barsad seeking confirmation and reassurance.

“You were never alone brother, …you will never be alone”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ps new section added to chapter 4
> 
> Hi Guys thanks for the comments & Kudos it all helps :-)  
> Sorry for delay had to find my muse again.  
> This chapter is a bit intense and all about feelings and angst - there will be lighter moments coming up but this chapter was needed to show how serious the LOS is.
> 
>  
> 
> Please please go to the ATM of comments and let me know what you think. Good or Bad - it all helps. xxxxxx with a cherry on the top :-)


	6. The cleansing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another step for John

His fingers drumming a melody of impatience against his thigh, he had promised thought John fiercely to himself he had promised. And Barsad was unfailing steadfast.   
For about the millionth time, John wished they would give him back his watch. Barsad had promised to come in the evening to take him to wash. John knew he smelt rank and if Barsad’s faint curl of his lip and sniff yesterday had been anything to go by, then he agreed too. He had tried to use a corner of the blanket moistened with some of his precious water but all he had done was redistribute the sweat and grime around. He had actually felt worse after his impromptu blanket bath. Now finally he could be clean, he would be human again. If only Barsad would hurry up. Surely it had been hours and hours since his midday meal. 

A scrape of a bolt been eased back and John leapt to his feet, his mouth helplessly widening into a grin of excited anticipation. Barsad stood, the soft light of the flickering bulb behind him casting a ghostly halo around him. He smiled at John’s eagerness as he strode calmly into the room. 

“You are well Brother?” 

John sighed inwardly as he bent his head at Barsad’s greeting “I am well”. He refused to use the word Brother and so far Barsad had allowed it, but he had succumbed to Barsad’s teaching. It had taken two days for that lesson, the bitterness of that souring his initial excitement. 

If Barsad noticed it as he nodded softly almost to himself as he took in John’s appearance. 

“Please if you will strip and put this robe on and nothing else”.

He stared suspiciously at the proffered thin cotton robe, which had Barsad smirking as he turned to face the wall, giving him a modicum of privacy.   
John exhaled noiselessly as he tied the robes belt firmly around himself, enjoying the soft crisp feel of the cotton against his skin. He hoped he would be given a towel when he went for his shower  
.  
Barsad after giving him a searching look as though assessing whether John was acceptable for this, ushered him out of his cell. As usual, John lost all sense of direction in the twists and turns of the catacombs. Finally they came to a large open area lit softly by flickering candles. A small tea set was positioned in the middle of the room with cushions strewn haphazardly around them. 

Barsad with the grace of a dancer sat down cross legged, and waited patiently for John to do the same. 

“I thought I was going to get a shower”, said John crossly.

“You will be cleansed, but first you must partake of some refreshments …..it is customary in this….. situation”

Screwing his nose in confusion, John nevertheless crouched down, reaching for a bowl like cup, best to get this over with. A wooden spoon smacked his knuckles.

“OW”, he exclaimed whipping his hand back to suck on his bruised hand “What was that for?”

Barsad shushed him, “Be patient Brother, this is part of the cleansing… it is tradition. Now hush whilst I prepare.” 

John scowled, but did as he was bade. He had learnt again the hard way it seemed to take heed when Barsad spoke in that tone of voice. Despite himself he was intrigued as Barsad with great concentration and devotion performed some sort of weird tea ritual. Strange he thought Barsad would be too macho to do something like make tea. He hastily he stifled a giggle at the thought of Barsad with a tea cosy being mother. 

Barsad stilled, his eyes flicking warningly at John, before adding a small flower to the teapot. He swirled the water for several minutes before pouring it into two small bowls, presenting it to John with great reverence.

John peered into the murky depths his eyebrows raised.

“Hey its Blue”.

“Please Brother partake of this refreshment”. Oddly Barsad sounded slightly strained. With a huff John took a few careful sips, almost spitting out the foul concoction.  
“Ermm it’s nice”, he offered lamely, perhaps he would be allowed some sugar and milk that might make it more palatable. Though on the other hand it would come out as Blue milky tea eughhyuk. 

A few more sips and he set the bowl down, hoping that would be enough. He glanced up to find Barsad watching him intently almost hungrily. 

“What?” He wiped his mouth in case the strange tea had given him a blue moustache.

“Stay here whilst I prepare the room”. 

“Yeah sure whatever”. 

John picked up his bowl he supposed it would be rude not to drink it after all the trouble Barsad went to making it. He nursed his tea for several minutes, looking around the room wondering if there was any way he could pour the tea away before Barsad returned. He didn’t want to insult Barsad tea making skills but really this was even worse than the cod liver oil they were given weekly at the orphanage. Nothing for it, ‘bottoms up’ as they used to say in the movies. Holding his nose he gulped it down. Yuck he could feel it sliding all the way to his tummy. 

Groaning he sprawled out amongst the cushions, whilst he awaited Barsad’s return. Already fantasying about a power shower with 6 jets and limitless hot water and every type of shower gel invented and oh god a razor would be good too as he rubbed his hand over the strange growths of hair on his face that was sprouting up unevenly all over. He couldn’t even grow a beard properly. And what the hell was keeping Barsad.

He peered over at Barsad’s bowl and frowned in confusion. 

“Bastard”, he muttered he hadn’t even drank his bowl, he better not be expecting him to drink his share. His eyes widened as he started connecting the dots… on the possible reasons for Barsad not drinking his own tea….poison? No … but Barsad had mentioned something about cleansing… maybe a laxative, maybe he thought John was constipated, nothing could be further from the truth with all that porridge stuff they had been feeding him with? He poked his tummy, nothing seemed strange. 

“He’s not poisoned you, he just wants you to be happy”, said the teapot reasonably

WHAT THE FUCK?

John stared at the teapot intently, NO WAY! 

“Ermmm Hello?”

“Hello”, replied the teapot.

“ohmygod you can talk… fuck… a talking teapot”. John looked in amazement at the teapot. The teapot stared back at him coolly.

“You know he doesn’t like it when you swear”. 

“Yeah, yeah… lets just keep that between us yeah? Alright?” John glanced around nervously. “I mean ….. how can you talk you don’t even have a mouth”

The teapot glared back at him, “Have so”.

“Have not”.

“Have too”.

“Brother? …..Brother?………..JOHN?”

John squinted up at Barsad “Um Hello?” 

Barsad studied him before hesitantly asking, “Are you arguing with the teapot?” 

John glanced back at the teapot, “He started it”, he complained.

“Did not.”

“Did so.”

“Not”.

“Did”.

“stop, stop….STOP”. Barsad commanded loudly, rendering both John and the teapot silent. John crossly looked back at Barsad, surely he wasn’t going to take the teapot’s side.  
Barsad tilted his chin up firmly with calloused hands looking intently into John’s eyes. John smiled up at him dreamily he really had the prettiest eyes. He must have said that thought out aloud as Barsad jerked back in surprise. Before picking up the empty tea bowl. 

“Brother?”

“Uh huh?” 

“Did you drink the whole bowl?”

“Well yeah, it was pretty disgusting let me tell you, you would never get a job in Starbucks. Though maybe if you added some sugar and a slice of lemon”. John rattled on.  
There was a stunned sort of silence and John squinted up at Barsad who was pinching the bridge of his nose and gazing at the ceiling in exasperation. 

He shook his head, “Only you Brother… let’s get you cleansed whilst we still can”.

“Uh Huh”. John replied offhandedly as he tried to ignore the teapot which was making disparaging remarks about his beard.

Two hands lifted him up off the floor, forcing him to his feet. John staggered and swayed as he was gently guided through the door. 

John stared in amazement it was a large bathing room. Like something from a Harem. He giggled at the thought as Barsad led him to a bench, a large copper pail of steaming hot water laid beside it with bar of soap and a flannel cloth. 

“Hey where’s the shower?”

“Hush little Robin, let me cleanse you, you must be cleansed in body, mind and heart and then you can become one with the brotherhood and you will never be alone.”

“Really?” 

Yes Brother, this is but one of many steps in your journey and I will be there with you, we all will”. 

Somehow, without realising it Barsad had stripped him of his robe, surprisingly John couldn’t really get up the energy to complain and with the first stroke of that soaked hot flannel across his back, John moaned in appreciation. It felt oh so good as all that grime and sweat was washed away. Like a marionette he let Barsad direct his body as he was thoroughly lathered and washed, even his hair and beard given a tender massage of soapy suds. He closed his eyes on command and water was sluiced off him, and then the process was repeated again and then again. He must have been really stinky he thought idly. 

Finally he was deemed clean enough and was led to a large cavernous bath, large enough to fit a football team in it. He was eased into the warm water and sighed as he felt his muscles almost go limp. Barsad moved in beside him, propping his body up against him. John wondered if he should be worried about the large octopus at the bottom. He tried to tell Barsad but was only gently hushed and told not to worry over such things. John relaxed, Barsad had it hand and soon in response to Barsad’s gently worded questions, found himself beginning to open up. Sharing stories and jokes that made him giggle and smile. He didn’t think he had ever felt so happy. His eyelids began to flutter as he started to drift off. Only vaguely aware as other people joined them. It didn’t matter Barsad would look after him, he was after all a Brother. 

He was only vaguely aware that at some point he was picked up, dried off and then carried back to his room. Strange dreams and nightmares followed, but always there was somebody there. Holding him, telling him was safe, that he was not alone. He slept like a baby, full of innocence and purity. He had been cleansed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Gus, sorry it took so long, its been a sad time at mo. Thanks for all the reviews - I love reading them its what got me off my butt to write this chapter.
> 
> I do love feedback, I think it helps me be a better writer, so good, bad, would love all your comments. Is pace okay, was this chapter too boring ... etc etc  
> Please please do tell me what you think.


	7. Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training a new brother.

   
John scowled up at his nemesis, his arch enemy he thought melodramatically. It had been days since his so called ‘cleansing’. He had woken up refreshed, clean and full of energy, until his memory started filling in all the blank spots. Even now days later humiliation and anger warred within him as he recalled how he had been doped and washed like a child. The anger increasing day by day, his belly a sea of discontent that wanted to strike, to hit, to hurt. 

Perhaps Barsad was psychic as he had avoided him all day today, even though he hollered and shouted for Barsad the rat to come. And now with no word of apology, no fucking word at all. Barsad had entered his cell and motioned for John to follow as he calmly walked away. Incensed he had run after him, for once forgetting to try and memorise the twists and turns as he harangued the bastard all the way into a large deserted sandy arena. 

Weird! He had looked around in confusion it looked like a training area, with targets and body bags hung up at the far end. Barsad picked up 2 staffs, gazing at them appraisingly before flipping one to John who caught it on impulse. They gazed at each, one impassive and calm, the other a maelstrom of anger and resentment.

“You angry little one, very well. Then strike at me, expend your anger”.

John narrowed his eyes, but made no move to lift the staff into position as Barsad slowly circled him, taunting him, his stick making small smacks every now and then against Johns.

“You feel ill-treated brother, you yearn for vengeance then defend yourself, or are you a mere boy to be washed behind the ears like a child.”

Johns eyes grew stormy, as Barsad’s smile grew wider as he mocked his young charge.

Until finally John erupted. Lunging without warning he swung like a mad man once, twice, thrice… and then….he hit Barsad, a solid think against his arm that sent him spinning backwards. He grinned in satisfaction at the look of surprise on Barsad’s face. ‘Go Team John’. He crowed to himself. Punching his bony arm into the air with a victory punch.

Barsad’s eyes narrowed, his smirk fading. As he faced John with all the attention he would give a true opponent

“My mistake Robin… I underestimated you, and did not respect you. It will not happen again.”

It was spoken with absolute conviction like an oath. And Johns snigger slowly died away … oh fuck.

Barsad jabbed out, he swung his stick up to block, lightning fast, it was reversed coming in low. Unable to bring his stick up fast enough, John danced away. And so it continued, whirlwind fast jabs that John either evaded or blocked. It didn’t take long before John was panting, sweat streaming off him, arms like jelly as they trembled with each blow from Barsad’s staff. 

“Concentrate… you lack focus”. Pffuff the staff whistled mere millimeters from his head

“You dance like a girl, you must move like a bee.” Smack a blow to his thigh. Yelping John staggered back, rubbing his thigh as he bared his teeth at Barsad.

“Hold it tight, your hold is like a baby... weak, useless.”

Another blow that nearly sent his staff spinning away, the reverberation travelling up his arms, his muscles screaming at the strain.

“Move with each blow, absorb it use it to make your next move.”

And so it went on … John, for once out of words as Barsad chased and fought him all over the arena. John started to fear this man. Only realising despite everything he hadn’t really thought that Barsad would physically hurt him. A sweeping blow to his calves and John tumbling to the ground, his staff flying out his bruised hands. One arm coming up automatically to protect himself for the next blow.   
A sharp whistle. And Barsad stopped, the staff mere inches from his face. They stared at each other, John panting with exertion, sweat streaming off him, whilst Barsad looked as fresh as a daisy, his breathing had barely changed. 

Another whistle and they both looked up to see a large man standing nonchalantly on the wall. Legs apart, hands clutching the straps of some sort of chest contraception. Bane! And behind him a whole score of soldiers who from the evidence of their wide grins had been enjoying the sight of John getting his butt whipped. At Bane’s scowl, John’s heart sped up, oh shit he had forgotten how fucking huge Bane was. The time when he had been caught on the barge India seemed so long ago.

Barsad chuckled before leaning over and hauling John to his feet. “Relax brother, He’s reminding me you are still newly fledged from the nest, and you must learn to fly before you can soar.”

Barsad grinned his white teeth gleaming as he slapped John on the back. “You did well Brother”. Strangely John felt himself flush with pleasure at the praise. “Come you must meet the others. It is time my brother.” 

Others came forward, large hands clapping his shoulder. Gabbling excitedly in what seemed half a dozen languages as he as he was led to a large hall. A thick stew poured out for him. After so long without anybody except Barsad, John inexplicably felt shy. Two large men approached and receiving permission from Barsad sat at their part of the long trestle table. He didn’t really know much of what was going on. But the men seemed pleased with him all smiles and cracking jokes, it seemed that they thought he had done well with Barsad, as they mimed again and again the part when he had smacked Barsad down. John had worriedly looked at Barsad unsure of how he would take this teasing. But Barsad had just smiled and tousled his hair affectionately. Later Barsad had taken him to the baths again. This time they had both just washed and then soaked in the hot waters of the bath, as others joined one by one until the bath was full of laughing, high spirited men

He enjoyed that night, understanding nothing of their language, just watching silently and basking in the feeling of camaraderie. His loneliness easing, his anger and resentment easing. 

But still as he was escorted back to his room, he forced himself to try and map out the route, the exits, the windows, how many men were here…. He would never forget he swore to himself no matter what he would escape. He would not be tricked.   
The next day, he found his door open, he had hovered uncertainly unsure what he could do, what was allowed. If he did something wrong would the door be locked again. Steeling himself he ventured out, realising after only a few seconds whilst the door was open he seemed to have gained two annoying and diligent tails. 

Turning to his two escorts he had demanded to see Barsad. They grinned and ushered him out until they came back to the Arena. This time it was packed full of half-dressed men training and sparring. Barsad seemed to be the one in charge. He acknowledged John’s presence with a nod and then went back to calmly correcting a young soldier’s stance. 

John settled down to watch, intrigued and curious despite himself. It was easy to spot the new recruits from the seasoned warriors. It was all in their attitude and posture. Calm, confident and full of determination. Their moves almost poetic in speed, accuracy and delivery. By contrast the younger recruits were all in varying stages of fumbling ineptitude. But he could see how the older more seasoned men would correct them again and again, how they improved. Barsad taking a hands on approach to his mentoring.

There was one man that didn’t seem to be taking to the training. His pockmarked face full of hatred, as he waited until his opponent a very young lad turned his back. Before hitting him across the shins and then again and again as he fell. Barsad didn’t even hesitate as he executed a swift set of moves that would have made Jackie Chan proud. As the pock marked man’s staff was strike from his hands, he reached into his robes pulling out a large dagger as he spun to face Barsad.

He swiped at him, Barsad danced back. His eyes serious as he called out to the man. All the other soldiers stopped to watched but nobody went to Barsad’s aid. 

Two sets of hands grabbed John, making him realise he had automatically jumped up to go and help. A hand ruffled his hair affectionately, his guard murmuring in his ear. “Watch Brother, no one except Bane can beat Barsad.” 

And almost immediately, the man was felled as he was disarmed by Barsad. A hush came to the arena. A large figure detaching itself from the shadows. Approaching the fallen man, it was all over in seconds as he reached to the man’s neck and wretched it violently, the loud crack carrying over the arena. John had anticipated that Bane would do… something violent. He hadn’t expected this. He felt confused, and looked up to see both Bane and Barsad watching him intently. Bane nodded to John’s guards and they quickly grabbed him up shepherding him out of the arena and back to his room. The scene replaying again and again is his head. The violence was antithesis to him.

The days continued like this, every day John would leave his cell to wander as he pleased trying to gauge the limits of his leash. Everyday Barsad would seek him out to give him almost private tuition. John despite knowing what they were doing couldn’t help yearning for more. Who was this Bane this masked man. And where was the lady Talia that Barsad spoke of so fondly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing, except the clothes on my back  
> But a few comments from you will make me feel like the richest person in the world.


	8. The Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John rebels, but is swiftly brought to heal.  
> He is starting to sink.

“You are in good health Brother?”

“As the stars in the sky Brother.”

Bane felt himself marginally relax.  The code phrase instantly letting him know the line was secure and all was well. 

It had been 2 weeks since he and Talia with a few select men had left their temporary encampment.  Leaving Barsad in charge of the men and of course their newest guest.  Talia was attempting to reconnect with her father.  She was still in hope that by allowing even this small line of communication, that eventually her father would relent. Bane was not so optimistic but where Talia went he would follow – always. 

“How is our little bird, still yearning to fly.”

“Yes, he hides it well, compliant for the most part.  But his eyes, Talia was right - they are the window to his soul, and they do not lie; he still has not accepted his place with us.”

Barsad sounded unhappy and even frustrated at the progress they were making with the boy, and Bane frowned this was unlike his usual calm second in command. 

“Something has happened?”

A long drawn out sigh, “Yes our Bird has been testing his boundaries, small things, little rebellions.  All expected and all dealt with in the appropriate manner and then today one of his shadows saw him stealing food. 

“With his upbringing in Gotham orphanage and with his first weeks with us it is not an unexpected outcome,” chided Bane.

 “I had his room searched and it’s not just food he’s been taking.  He is watched constantly and yet our little bird is an adept deceitful thief – water bottle, money, rope, even a key to one of the doors. All hidden so carefully inside his mattress.”

“Have you taken any action?”

“No, Not yet, I left his room intact, he is still ignorant that I am aware of his duplicitous nature.  

“Goood… Goood” replied Bane as he pondered this latest development.  “You have taken extra precautions?”

“I have doubled his shadows and increased his dosage for the last few nights.  But I was confident he was starting to accept and even enjoy his place with us.” 

Barsad sounded increasing pissed, and so unlike his normally composed self that Bane couldn’t help smirking a little. 

“We are committed to restoring balance, to excising corruption a check against human moral excess and greed.  I think our little bird needs to receive a taste of the leagues justice.”

“Is that wise?”

“I do not wish him severely damaged, but the lesson must be learnt.  Do it with kindness and care.  He will turn to you for comfort even if it’s your hand that holds the whip.”

There was a short silence as Barsad absorbed this.  It would be unpleasant, but yet he could see the wisdom of Bane’s words.  His Brother was always able to seek the correct path unclouded by emotion.    

“It will be done my brother.”    

 

* * *

 

John punched his pillow, something was going on.  His door had been locked when he had awoken.  He had tried shouting and then settled down to wait as patiently as he could.  This was probably another one of Barsad’s tests.  But he felt anxious; his insides twisted and turned, the sour tang of fear in his mouth. 

“My name is John Blake; I am from Gotham, USA.”

“My name is John Blake; I am from Gotham, USA.”

“My name is John Blake; I am from Gotham, USA.”

He whispered his mantra under his breath, his eyes screwed tight.  Trying to center himself.

 “My name is John Blake; I am from Gotham, The good old Uuuu SSSsss Aaaaa.”

Fiercely he continued.  “I am John Blake, not Robin, Not little bird, not brother, just John Blake.”  He muttered under his breath.  “I will not break, I will not give in, I will get away.”

The door opened with a noiseless whoosh and John jumped to his feet.  A guard beckoned to him, he hadn’t seen this one before.  His apprehension grew. 

“Where’s Barsad?  Why are you here? What’s happened to Hussar and Tiev?”

The man grinned with a toothless chuckle, as he beckoned John to follow him.  “Barsad discipline soldiers.  You come now Bird Boy.”

John gulped, wondering what that meant, will they be snapping more necks today. He hoped to god not.  

He followed the guards until they came to the courtyard.  All the soldiers were there gathered around a large platform, 6 large posts had been inexplicably erected in front of this.  The soldiers stared intently at Barsad.  He was ignored totally as they stopped to the side, a Guard on either side of him,

“Brothers when there is dereliction of duty, the soldier must be disciplined.  This is for the good of the brotherhood.  We must show the correct path.  Justice must be carried out.”

Barsad finally glanced his way. His voice boomed out carrying over the courtyard.  “We have a thief.” 

He signalled and two guards grabbed him forcing his hands behind his back, dragging him to the front of the dais and onto his knees.  A gag shoved roughly into John’s mouth.  He hollered and squirmed in shock.  But the guards hold was firm and unrelenting. 

Another soldier stepped forward handing Barsad a bag.  Solemnly his eyes never leaving John’s he pulled out item after item.  John’s eyes widened and he sagged in dispair.  All the precious things he had collected so studiously were careful laid on the table for all to see. 

As he faced the silent accusing eyes of the brotherhood inexplicably John felt shame, and then increasing anger at himself.  He was a prisoner he had done nothing wrong.  He wriggled and shouted at Barsad behind his gag. 

Barsad stood over him, his eyes serious as he spoke softly to him.  “Will you accept your punishment my brother?”

He glared back at Barsad, “Nnnnghhh fghuufg  bbstddff, ” as he garbled his reply, shaking his head violently for extra measure.

Barsad sighed sadly.  “Know this my Brother, I get no pleasure from this.  Justice will be served.”  He paused. “But if you wish to be punished you must you ask for it.”

John smirked behind his gag, as he mouthed more obscenities behind his gag.  All fire and rebellion.  Barsad must be fucking nuts if he thought he would ask to be punished.

“Very well John, but there is always a price to pay for every action.”

John stilled as he heard his name spoken for the first time since he had arrived here.  Worry bloomed in his eyes as Barsad held his gaze, before signalling. Six soldiers stepped forward.  They each took one of the objects from the table.  The water bottle, the key, the money, the food, the rope and a knife.  Hussar and Tiev was amongst them, and John’s face paled in shock as he started to understand what was about to happen.

Without any orders given they walked to a column and another soldier looped a rope around their wrists.

The next hour lasted a lifetime to John, as he was forced to bear witness as each soldier one after the other was systematically flogged, in front of his horror stricken eyes.  Each stifled moan or cry a dagger into his heart. 

Two soldiers keeping him upright as he cried and screamed against this cruel act.  Finally begging behind his gag to be punished instead.  But Barsad ignored him and none would look at him. 

When they were finished.  John was made to stand on the table, his hands tied behind him.  “John if you move from this place, if you avert your eyes from them before the sun sets, their punishment will continue tomorrow.”

With those final words, everybody left, until the courtyard was empty of just himself and the six disciplined soldiers.  None would look at him, even Hussar and Tiev, their arms taut as they leaned against the pillars for support, kept their gazes averted from him.

All day he stood, his legs cramping, sweat dripping into his eyes as the sun beat down.  He swayed on his feet as hour after hour passed.  His sense of shame, horror and guilt, all increasing with every second that passed.  Occasionally a soldier would enter the courtyard, sometimes a whispered word of encouragement was passed to one of the tied men, but he was totally utterly ignored.  He could feel their sense of comradeship and the condemning weight of all the other brothers. 

John had never felt so alone. 

As the sun set, two guards came to collect him, they pulled him from the table. Untying his hands and removing his gag, dragging him away as stiff cramped legs struggled to move.  And Barsad was nowhere in sight.

“Stop, stop, where’s Barsad?  I need Barsad?”  John started to shout, wrenching away from the restraining hands.

They ignored him, as they dragged him back to his cell.  Until finally John couldn’t bear it and started to scream Barsad’s name over and over.  Struggling like a wild thing as his escorts struggled to keep him under control.  Somebody swore, an order shouted and more soldiers joined in subduing John.  Pushing him to the ground.

And still John would not give in, even as his body weakened. 

“ENOUGH.”

All noise stopped and Barsad stepped from the shadows. His face expressionless as he stared down at John. 

The hands that had been restraining John, released him as the soldiers respectfully stepped back. 

“Please punish me… you said I would have to ask for it, this is me asking, please please I just can’t please…”  John voice broke and he looked away unable to meet Barsad’s gaze anymore. 

A heavy silence descended as Barsad studied him.  Before dropping gracefully onto his haunches, his hand tilting John’s chin as he gazed deep into his eyes.  “Very well.” 

He was taken back to the courtyard, onto the platform, he was laid onto his back and told to lift his feet.  The first blow was hard, the shock reverberating throughout his body.  He couldn’t help writhing in agony, all thought of trying to accept this stoically with courage like the other six men - lost.  He tried for the second and the third stroke, but his legs kept dropping. 

He felt shame. 

And then two pairs of hand lifting his legs,  squeezing his hands encouragingly.   Hussar and Tiev.  And suddenly the fourth and fifth stroke did not seem so bad.  And the ones that followed were like a cleansing fire.

Afterwards Barsad carried him half-conscious to his cell, carefully bandaging his feet.  Hussar and Tiev hovering in the background. 

A warm broth was fed to him, a hand stroking his hair soothingly.

“Sleep, sleep now little Robin.  Tomorrow is a new day.”

At his other name, John felt something in him relax, and sleep soon followed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry guys its been so long. its been a hard hard road  
> Not sure if anybody still interested in this - but if so let me know what you think
> 
> this is a real angsty chapter but it will get lighter ...


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